


Sacrilege

by Arlome



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, F/M, Religion, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 12:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18032207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome
Summary: "Sacrilege, such sacrilege it is, but he has no regrets – he’d rather worship at the altar of her thighs than sound the trumpets at kingdom come; better reign with his head between her legs, than serve in Heaven."A little ficlet about worship.





	Sacrilege

She lies in his bed, bathed in the dawning light, the sheen of sinful sweat on her cooling body giving her an almost ethereal glow.

“What are you looking at?” she asks, smiling lazily, satiated and peaceful, and turns on her left side to face him.

“You,” he replies softly, and touches her hip with gentle fingers, “I’m still getting used to the sight of you, naked, in my bed.”

She blushes prettily and tries to hide her face in one of his pillows, so he pulls her, laughing, to lie on top of him, flush against his chest. She’s smiling, radiant like his favourite star, and the rush of blood in her cheeks is more than just becoming.

“Well, you better get used to it fast, mister,” she mumbles, clearly still embarrassed, and ghosts her fingers over his cheekbones,” because I am here to stay.”

Her fingertips are catching on his stubble, drumming up a familiar tune down the line of his jaw; he can still smell the tangerine she’s had for lunch on them, ripe and sweet. And when they reach his lips, he kisses the deliciously scented skin, quite unable to resist tasting it with his tongue.

She gasps and writhes a little against his toned body, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He stirs beneath her, all too ready to worship her again, and she, sensing his willingness, pulls one of her knees upwards and shifts to welcome him into her body once more.

They move together slowly, with no real haste; not driven forward by desire, but rather by something else – something new and old, combined. The ghost of her breath on his chin, the brush of her skin against his, the way her moans break against her teeth and fall from her lips – he is closer to heaven now, in this divine moment, underneath her, than he’s been in millennia. 

She cries his name into his mouth and shudders above him, and all he can think, is, _‘Oh Father, who art in Heaven, I have finally beheld something brighter than your light’._

Sacrilege, such sacrilege it is, but he has no regrets – he’d rather worship at the altar of her thighs than sound the trumpets at kingdom come; better reign with his head between her legs, than serve in Heaven. He kisses her mouth with his sinful tongue, and his wicked lips, but breathes her name with the reverence and devotion of a martyr, ready to die for his faith in her, as he spends himself deep within her sacred womb. 

She laughs tiredly, still on top of him, and her golden hair tickles his nose, making him happier than he deserves to be.

“I’m never getting out of this bed,” she sighs, and yawns, and laughs again, this time against his mouth, “am I?”

“No,” he smiles and pulls her to him, enclosing her in his arms, “No, you’re not.”

The ghost of her breath on his chin, the brush of her skin against his – she kisses the doubts away and crushes his fears. 

Her eyes glint in the dawning light, and she smiles softly, like a benevolent saint.

“Good.”


End file.
